Rosaline's Lost Story
by UnknownSoul16
Summary: I loved him. I really did. I just wish I met him before I met the nuns. Maybe then I wouldn't have taken that vow. Maybe then we would have been together. Maybe I still would've said no. Maybe I still would've taken the vow, anyway. Maybe things would be different. Very different. Maybe he'd still fall for her. Maybe he wouldn't love me at all... One-shot. Rosaline-centric.


I loved him. I really did. I just wish I met him before I met the nuns. Maybe then I wouldn't have taken that vow. Maybe then we would have been together. Maybe I still would've said no. Maybe I still would've taken the vow, anyway. Maybe things would be different. Very different. Maybe he'd still fall for **her**. Maybe he wouldn't love me at all.

Not that he does now. He's in love with _Juliet._ My own **cousin**. Another Capulet. Why? Oh... That's right. I took the vow of chastity. I'm a celibate now, I can't even be wed. I can't be like the other women in Verona. I can't be who he wants.

But _Juliet_ can. **She** is pretty. **She** is young. And **she** can be wed. **She** can be who he wants. Can be like the other women. **She** deserves him. I don't. I'm not special enough for him. But **she** is...

... Right?

**She** gets to hear his sweet words , "Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For ne'er saw true beauty till this night." (I, v, 52-53).

I wanted him to feel that way about me...

**She** would have hopeful responses, "Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet." (II, ii, 126-128).

Words I yearned to voice...

When I told him we couldn't be together, I heard he didn't take it well. He told his best friend, (Mercutio was it?) "This love feel I, that feel no lovein this." (I, i, 179). I could see how hurt he was, not only in his eyes but by the tone of his voice and how sluggish he would move.

I feel terrible. I should feel terrible. I broke his heart. And I broke my own without even knowing it. Maybe I shouldn't have taken that vow in the first place...

Before he met **her** though, I heard him say something about how, "Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling inlovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet." (I, i, 189-193).

I couldn't know. I don't feel love. I can't. I should be able to at least feel some sort of flame, as Romeo put it. But I just can't. Maybe it's better I never fell in love. Maybe it's a good thing I can't love. Maybe it's a good thing I can't love Romeo. Maybe, just maybe...

After all, he did kill my cousin,Tybalt. When he killed Tybalt, he shouted, "O, I am fortune's fool!" (III, i, 135). He must have been consumed with anger; Tybalt did kill another Montague, though I can't recall his name. My **cousin** was in tears, **she** couldn't believe Tybalt was dead- Or at least that's how it seemed. I found out **she** was really crying over Romeo, the man **she** had just been married to. He was banished from Verona.

I won't ever be able to see him. At all. Though I'm sure **she** was planning on sneaking off with Romeo. Sadly, **she** was found dead. First Tybalt, then Romeo, and now **her.**

Why? Did I upset _Him_? Did I do something wrong? I've stayed chaste. I didn't break my vow. I didn't!

Turns out, Romeo was coming back here, to see **her** dead body. He must not have believed it. I wonder if **she** really is dead. Maybe **she's** faking. Maybe. For once, this will be true...

The next morning I found out that Paris was killed by none other than Romeo. I guess I was right. **She** was alive. The rumors also said how when she awoke from the deliberate comatose state, she found her beloved Romeo was dead. Apparently, he drank the poison, wanting to be with her forever. Too bad he didn't know she was alive, maybe then things could've been different. Maybe they would've lived happily in place far from Verona.

**She** took his dagger and stab **herself** right in the heart. I guess the rumors between the two were true.

They really were "A pair of star-cross'd lovers" (Prologue, 6). Poor Romeo. Poor **her**. They dug their graves before they even realized it. It's not right.

Is that what Love is? Not right? Because it controlled their fate? Because it hurt Romeo? Or is it right because it made them both feel worthy? Helpful? Positive?

Why is Love so complicated? And why should I care? It's not like I can actually feel it...


End file.
